


ESCAPADE [DNF]

by imrigs



Category: GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), dnf - Fandom, dream - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, gream
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, DNF, Dream shows George the world beyond the law, Dystopia, Fluff and Angst, Futuristic, George follows, Gream - Freeform, M/M, Maybe 100k words, Plot Twist, Runaway, Slow Burn, This will be a fun write, dreamnotfound, outlaw dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imrigs/pseuds/imrigs
Summary: In a world where all faces are veiled, and all truths told, two boys met.A meeting that extended beyond perilous words, and wreathed in the deepest taboo declared by their society.It was grave, but George longed for anything that could make him forget, and Dream craved the thrill.They were bound to take the gamble.
Relationships: Dream/George - Relationship, Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 136
Kudos: 239





	1. Warning

This story will contain mentions of gore, mild use of drugs, psychological & minimal sexual themes.

This is written in an alternate universe.

Have fun,

rigs.


	2. 2

A boy, huffing out what may have been his last breath, slammed the back of his head against the brick wall his feet had navigated around. Trepidation filled his mind as narrow droplets of sweat trickled down his hairline, dampening his thin mask. 

George had made a mistake, and it was going to cost him his life. 

Perturbed, he looked back from where he hid behind the wall, keeping track of the thin line of light that had illuminated from the drone hovering over the street. It had been getting closer by the second, and his heart was now more erratic in its beating than it had been moments prior. 

'Fuck,' he thought to himself, he messed up. 

He was out of his home, past midnight, a time allocated to be explicitly prohibited to step onto the streets at. 

His mind wandered to what would happen to him if he was to be seen: he would fall captured, and he would be brought to the council the following day, and ejected into unknown whereabouts and kept there for months, until the ground he stood on swallowed him whole. 

The thought made him shiver. 

He needed to get back home, but there was no room for his body on the wide, empty streets; he would get spotted by the drones in seconds, and they would immediately scan his hand, revealing his identity. 

His eyes slithered over his arm, settling on his hand. The barcode that sat on his skin stood out; his only identifier in the darkness of tonight's sky apart from the dim lights of street lamps that stood in slight glow. He had to hide the code atop it, a precaution to if he was to get caught. Another rule broken. 

A sigh escaped his cold lips, before he took the thin jacket he had wrapped around his body and began tying it around his hand. When it was completely fastened, he had another look behind the wall. 

And he instantly wished he had not. 

The drone had been several feet away from him, but that had been all it required to detect his presence.

Before the artificially intelligent machine could accelerate towards him, George's feet dashed out of his spot, sprinting deeper into the city he had never seen past evening. The buildings were only growing taller, the farther into it he got, and brighter. 

But he could not spare its radiance any of his attention, not right then. 

And not when he began hearing the chilling siren behind him. His heart jumped to his throat, and his feet tripped over one another, but he did not fall. He could not. 

He had to run, but he did not know where to. He had never heard of anyone who had gotten found outside and not been caught. The consequence was always brutal.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted to himself, inaudible hushed murmurs that barely amounted to any sound with his breathing as heavy as it had been. A part of him had thought: this had been it, the end. But his feet kept going, skipping past multiple streets, until he had eventually came to cross a waterway. 

Then, realization dawned upon him: he had been running East. He stopped. 

He had reached the water bridge, a dead end. 

George was going to get caught. 

Panic settled into the boy's body, and he promptly bolted towards the river. 

It may have been his fear for his life, or solely the horror the siren feet behind him had brought him that pushed the heel of his shoe past the edge of the high river bank. 

Right then, he was desperate, enough to jump off a cliff and plunge into a river that was unknown to him in depth. 

George's head met the glacial water first, followed by his chest, and his feet. The ringing noise that had left the drone was distorted to him, gradually fading away into silent beeps. He was struck by shock, and he could not move even with his mind coercing him into swimming. 

And conceivably, it may have been the stillness that teemed his body that had saved his life that day.

A portion of a minute had gone by, and his hands were beginning to stir against the hefty pressure of the current's waves. He was running out of breath, and he knew better than to allow a gap to crack the tightness between his lips. 

He waved his hands in attempt to shift his body closer to the surface, and he was successful, but the crashing waves that had collided with his body had pushed him orthogonally across the small shore.

So he stopped resisting it, simply because the inertia of swimming to it was far too great for him to overcome. He let the tide drag him to the right, and it eased his motion. 

In seconds, he was able to breathe, and that was when he let his lips part for a sharp inhale of air. His ears were met with silence, and his eyes were open as soon as they left the water, probing the flashlight emitted by the drone that had spotted him. 

And amidst the blanketed, somber sky, he spotted it. Though now, it had been several, several feet farther away from him. It was only then when he realized that the waves had pushed him so far from the spot he initially landed in that he could barely see the river bank he was aiming to swim to. 

What he saw now, instead, had been a large bridge that towered over the river. He could not see the end of it, but he could make out an outline of a brink that led to a spot underneath the long driveway. 

He swam to it, swiftly, but cautiously enough not to emit any sound.

A part of him had felt dismal, having gone through what he had, but at most, it had been relief that washed over him. His heart was just seeming to calm down, and his nerves were beginning to decompress. 

That was when he realized it had not been a brink, but an elevated surface that he knew his arms could not reach from where he was in the water. 

"Shit, seriously?" He cursed, for the nth time tonight, but he was not to blame; it seemed tonight had been the most fateful night of his life, where every move he made may have been fatal. 

He reached out nonetheless, even with his arm barely extending three quarters through the high area. George's eyes were on the drone, at all times, foreboding thoughts freely swarming him. 

You attract what you fear. 

A law the boy had not put much mind into until it had implemented itself before his very two eyes. 

As if sensing his restless body, the drone instantaneously turned in direction, pointing straight to his'. It buzzed through the air, the light from the headlight glistening against the turquoise of the river. 

It was, at most, 30 seconds away with the rate of speed it had been levitating with. George was certain, more now than ever, that he had been found. 

He thought: it was the end for him. 

His hand began to lower from the high surface it stretched over, surrender lethargically filtering his body of verve. 

But it had not been, and his hand was not halfway down to the rest of his body before it was drawn upwards, hastily. 

George's eyes immediately traveled towards the unknown force, and found a hand pulling at his wrist, with another reaching out towards him. He was bewildered, for small seconds, before his other hand instinctively took the gloved one.

Just like that, the timorous boy was advanced from the water, and brought to dry grass under the bridge. His breathing was heavy, but he could not yet feel ease. He could feel another's presence right by him, their damp, leather gloves faintly sliding off of his skin. 

"Do you usually jump off cliffs like that?"


	3. 3

Meeting George's eyes was a clear white mask, with two black spots as eyes, and a stretched smile across it. He had never seen anything like it before; every mask worn by everyone in the city had been identical. Clear black, navy, or white with a small rectangular reflective glass portion for vision. 

He was not sure how the boy who had hoisted him from the water could see, but he knew one thing as of then: he had saved him. 

"Wh-" He began, but could not finish, because soon, the gloved hands were back on his arm, pulling him away from where they stood. That had been when he comprehended the situation he was still in. 

The drone was still there, and it was inching closer by the second. He turned on his feet, even with the water, heavy on his clothed form, weighing him down, and ran. 

The soaked boy was on the other's heel, taking every detour he had taken, and not once looking back at the buzzing sound of the drone close behind them. They had climbed up a set of stairs by the right of the bridge, the route leading them towards an open path back to the city. It brought an inkling of hope back to George. 

They could make it, and they could hide. It made him feel more secure, but he knew better than to take that feeling for granted and retard his movement. 

He could see the tall buildings of the city nearing the more they ran, and upon the sight, he heard the oddly masked figure beside him speak, "once we reach the first 12 windowed building, turn right into the alleyway. Keep running, don't stop." 

George heard the instructions, and assumed he had a plan. He was going to follow what he had been told blindly, simply because he had no other course of actions he intended to take. He nodded, more to himself than to the person before him. 

It had only taken them little minutes to get into the city, and tall structures were beginning to tower over them. George's eyes began to rapidly watch the buildings they passed, counting the amount of windows that only seemed to increase the farther into the metropolis they had gotten. 

Two and six. 

Four and four. 

Five and six.

Six and six.

The heel of George's shoe squeaked at the sharp turn he made, quickly sprinting to his right, as instructed by the other. Just as the boy had described the path, George found himself running into an alleyway. 

He kept running, and soon, he heard the drone following him. 

Oh fuck. 

'Had he made them split up so he could get away?' George thought to himself, a thought that did not ponder for a brief minute before he heard a loud smash bang behind him. 

The buzzing had stopped, and for seconds, the air was silent. 

He looked back, and there was no light behind him. No headline, no bustling, no drone. His gaze lowered, and that had been when it entered his line of vision 

The drone that would have potentially ended his life was on the ground, crushed into more pieces than he could count, with a large rock pierced into its backside. 

"These things are so stupid," the same boy from earlier appeared behind it, "always gets them." 

George looked at him, and at the drone once more, almost disbelieving of what had just taken place. He had never heard of anyone destroying a drone, let alone seen it happen, and the situation before him was remarkably peculiar. 

"Can you.. do that?" Were the first words to leave the shorter boy's mouth, a perplexed expression settling on his face. The other individual could not see it, but George's tone alone was telling of his bewildered state. 

"Do what?" 

"You destroyed the drone, you'll get detained," he responded, his words more flabbergasted than his face. 

"And you won't? It's 2 AM, and you sure as hell aren't home," the smiley-masked stranger retorted, permitting silence to settle between them. 

It was true. He was breaking the law, too. He was not one to talk. 

"I need to go back," George shook his head, walking towards the entrance of the alleyway, and passing the boy who had saved him in the process. Before he could exit it, however, he was stopped. 

The other's voice was subdued, but loud enough for him to hear, "through the city? Suicide mission."

The brunette turned around. "Then what do you suggest? Stay here and wait until they find me?" 

George knew he was acting officious, but it had been the nerves that unsettled him to no end that drove his attitude towards the person who had saved him twice. 

"4 hours left until sunrise, your risk to take," he told him, detouring around his rigid body, and leaving the alleyway altogether. 

The frozen boy was conflicted. He was cold, drenched in water, and anxious. In short, he was in no condition to be making his own decisions, especially ones that would potentially bring an end to his life. 

So, he decided to do what he had been doing for most of his daunting night, and began trailing after the eccentric stranger. Several steps into it, his presence was detected. 

"What are you doing?" 

George let one of his arms wrap around the other in an attempt of keeping some warmth to himself against the chilling breeze that seemed to prick his skin every chance it got. "What do you think?" 

"You're leaving a trail behind you, ideal strategy for hiding from intelligent machinery," the boy in front of him deadpanned, his words laced in derision. He did not have to turn around to notice the droplets leaving George's soaked clothes and staining the light concrete ground in dimmer shade. 

George ignored his statement, "where are you going?" He asked a question, in genuine hope that would be told a destination; a safe place to hide. But he was not, so he asked another.

"Do you have a plan?"

"You're full of questions, aren't you?" 

"Should I not be? It's my first time out at this time," he paused, looking around the vacant streets, "first time breaking the law, and you seem to be experienced."

It was true. From George's point of view, the boy leading him through the city had done more illegal deeds than legal in the several minutes he had met him for, with valiance, as if it had been cinch. He was not like George, in any way. 

"You saying you think I'm an outlaw?" He responded, a jocose tone playing with his words. 

"No, I know you're an outlaw, so you can tell me where we're going now," George gallantly enunciated, the gelid feeling on his doused sweater settling onto his skin underneath. 

He did not receive an answer, but instead, a short chuckle that faded into the grounding silence of that night's zephyr. 

He did not ask again, conversely, he did not speak again. 

The two walked through the dismal city of Himmel, now, with nothing trailing them but their own shadows. And a diminutive fleck of intrigue that meandered between them.


	4. 4

George was stood in front a tall ladder that extended several meters into the air, his heart beating against his ribcage. 

"You're insane," he told the other, his head subconsciously shaking in detest of the idea he had suggested. 

The stranger was going to climb up a building, he had already began to, and George was left on the concrete ground still contemplating following him. He feared getting caught, again, but this time with greater penalty. 

He had never once even spared the thought of entering unauthorized property, let alone climbing one. Now, he stood watching the odd boy mounting the ladder, taking more than a bar at a time. 

"Hey!" George called him again, "what if we get caught up there? We can't run!" 

"Then stay down here and see what happens." 

His words resonated in the older boy's ears, scarcely brushing the surface of his rationale. He did not know what to do; he had never been put in dire situations such as this one, where one wrong decision could end it all. 

He was not one to follow others blindly, but his lack of experience, and confidence, in outrunning the authorities was more than enough reason to give in. George had already listened to him twice now, and nothing bad had happened, what's a third?

Upon his decision, he let one of his hands touch the railing of the thin ladder. It had been his left, the same one he had covered with his wet jacket in order to hide his code. He realized, he could not climb up with it, a wet hand meant a slippery grip, and that was too dangerous for him. 

So, he removed it, ditching the jacket altogether just by the ladder before he took his first steps towards it. 

He wiped off some of the droplets that stayed on his hand on the lower part of the steel before letting his feet ascend the first step. 

Then, he began making is way up the building, the amplitude between him and the ground augmenting with every stair he took. His head was throbbing, with the jittery fear of falling off from where he was, halfway up the building.

In minutes, he was at the very top, and his eyes never left the bars before him, his hands clutching onto them for dear life. The boy who had preceded him in path was already at the top, his feet steady on the roof of the building.

George hastily climbed the last of the ladder, throwing himself at the stiff ground he had destinated. He was breathing heavily, ease filling him for the nth time tonight. 

"You look like you're about to die," the boy told him insouciantly, the smile on his mask mimicking his lack of fret. 

"Maybe it's because I was seconds away from dying. You're the weird one for doing all of this nonchalantly." The brunette huffed, finally having time to look at the stranger's complete figure. 

He had been tall, very much so, and it evinced the swiftness of his steps when they had ran from the drone minutes ago. His hair had been light in color, but George could not pinpoint the exact shade; the dimness of the night sky had been too somber for his vision to catch it. 

The leather on both of his hands did not go unnoticed by him, either. It made absolute sense, however, he was hiding his code too. 

What did not make sense was how he had acquired them. The city did not produce anything that was ultimately illegal; all identity codes were printed on every citizen's hand, and covering it at any time had been a dangerous offense. 

And from his figure alone, George decided that the person before him was a very odd individual.

After receiving no particular reply, George began standing on his feet, his mouth opening once more: "why are you out here at this time anyway?" 

"I could ask you the same," he responded, his hand delving into the inner pocket of his dark jacket. 

"I asked first."

The boy's hand left his pocket, now holding a small item the other could not make out the silhouette of. "It's fun." 

'You seriously get enjoyment out of this?' George almost asked, a puzzled expression plastered onto his face. He could not see how anyone would find merriment in potentially life-threatening situations. But seeing how the other male was cognizant of his path around the city, and destroying drones, it made complete sense. He must have done this invariably. 

"So, what? You're an adrenaline junkie?" 

His narrative was new to the peculiar stranger, and it made him look at him again. "Adrenaline junkie?" One of his brows had been raised, but neither of them could see it from behind his mask. 

"You feel ecstasy by jeopardizing yourself," the shorter boy explained, almost certain of his words, "that's why you're out here."

Part of what George had concluded had been correct, and it fascinated the oddly masked boy, for more seconds than one. "Why are you here?"

They were both facing one another, with the only thing veiling them from one another being their masks. George was glad, right then, that he could not see the timorous look on his face. "I was getting my cat some food from the store, and.. got lost." 

The stranger hummed in disbelief; George's lie had been blatant, and easy to see through. The city shuts down all stores an hour before lockdown, it had been impossible for him to get lost for such a long time, especially with aided navigation centers on every street. 

"And you happened to jump into a river, sounds like you're the adrenaline junkie here, 404."

The number caused George to freeze, and peek over at his uncovered hand that had told his identity number in bold letters. Then, glancing at the leather gloves before him, he questioned, "how do you have those?" 

"What, are you planning on repeating tonight?"

George quickly shook his head, "I was just-"

Before he could complete his sentence, a familiar buzzing noise sounded nearby, and he hastily stepped closer to the other. "There's a drone," he told him, voice lower. 

"Let's go," the taller male began walking away from him, but not towards the ladder they had just climbed up.

George looked around them. There had been no hiding spot on the roof; they were completely exposed. "Where?" 

"Follow me."

And he did, for the fourth time tonight. 

Part of him had trusted the stranger, simply because they had both committed the same crime. He felt safer having an accomplice. He was willing to trail him, wherever he went, but when he saw him standing over the edge of the building, dubiety began to resurface. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Come on, it's almost here," he looked back at him, the smile on his mask menacing against the action his position insinuated he was about to do. 

George walked towards him, heart thumping erratically against his ribcage. "You're not going to jump, right?" 

"You're going to get caught 404."

Fuck.

Briskly, the anxious boy closed the distance between them, allowing him to get hold on his arm once more. Before he could further question his means of escape, he saw a light flash onto his face. 

The drone was here.

And he was falling.


	5. 5

George was alive, and all of his limbs intact. 

His eyes had been tightly shut, in dreadful affright. Fear that he had fallen down from the roof and gotten crushed by the impact on the ground. But he was not. 

When he opened his eyes, he had been stood on a balcony, a floor below the roof, and his head digging into the other boy's back. 

"What the hell?" George pulled back, clutching the front of his head with a rickety hand before stabilizing himself. 

The stranger then opened the glass door leading to the inside of the building, stepping into it, "don't just stand there." 

"This is trespassing," he remarked before following his path regardless of the consequences it may have held. 

They had both been inside when the boy closed the glass door, with the drone appearing on the other side of it shortly after. George swallowed the lump that seemed to have accumulated in his throat, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. 

The lights in the room were immediately turned on upon detecting their motion, and the layout of an office came into their view. 

The taller male made his way towards a community couch, laying on it imperturbably. 

It had puzzled George to no end. He was safe, now, but the question revolving around his mortality had shifted to another topic. 

"You jump down buildings for adrenaline?" 

Then, he realized, he was not one to talk; he had just halted himself off a cliff and into a river just several minutes ago. In a way, they had both acted out of rationale tonight. 

"Not my style, but if the circumstances allows it, why not?" His hand had been on his own mask, adjusting it around his head. 

George was still stood far away, but began taking smaller steps into the room the more he talked, "what is your style?" He had expected a reply that would completely baffle him, like burning benches, or other imperiling activities. 

"Making amateur rebels like you believe I've sided with them before I turn them over to the council." 

The statement made George stop in his tracks, glancing at the other individual who had already been watching him. 

He did not know whether he had to believe him or not, but he did not. Merely because whoever it was sitting in front of him had been an outlaw. So, he decided to retort back at him, "what a coincidence, that's my plan too." 

It seemed the boy on the couch had caught slight intrigue for the person before him, for small seconds, because his chest momentarily shook, with no sound leaving his lips. "Good luck reporting me without my identity." 

Then, George realized he had not seen his number, since his hands had been gloved all along. It had been abnormal to ask for others' numbers upon meeting them; that had been the construct of their society. But the person in front of him was odd, and so was he, for sticking by him for more time than he needed. So, he decided to ask: "what's your number?" 

"My name is Dream." 

"You," he paused, mouth now agape at what he had just heard. It had been forbidden to share one's birth name, or any other form of identification that was not an ID number. George would have spent more time in complete bafflement over his complete disregard of the laws, but realized it would have been to no avail. The person before him - Dream - was mystical. Bizarre. 

"Okay, Dream," he said his name for the first time, the sound of a person's name foreign on his tongue. "Dream." 

Upon hearing George repeat it, Dream's lips sloped into a smirked underneath his mask, "like it?" 

"It's.. odd, I've never said anyone's name before," he answered truthfully. It had felt strange, but it did not feel bad. 

"What's yours?" He was asked, his tongue tying knots around itself just as he processed the question.

"I can't say that, it's against the law." 

"404, why don't you go out there and turn yourself in like a law abiding citizen?"

And George knew that irony had dripped from every word he had spoken. Not a single action he had done tonight was judicial, and he knew it. He was not comfortable with sharing his name, but he had no need to hide it in front of a criminal. Naturally, the act called him. 

Because George was not a lawful individual. He did not believe in jurisdiction, but in consequence. And right now, there was no consequence. 

"My name is George." 

"George," it had been Dream's turn to speak the other's name, with each letter ringing into his ears. 

He had never heard his name being voiced out loud by anyone, not even himself. It brought an eccentric feeling to his stomach. He could not pinpoint it, and within the few seconds of thought he gave it, he concluded it had been anxiousness. 

"That feels so strange to hear," George told him honestly before wiping the sweat on his palms on the moist edge of his shirt. That was when he realized he was still in wet clothes. He knew he could not change out of them right now, but something that had caught his eyes since entering the office was a small heating system by the side of the wall. 

He began making his way to it.

Tonight had been very, very perplexing to George. He had been caught by a drone, jumped into a river, and saved by a mystifying stranger who he was now carrying a conversation with, in soaked clothes. 

"Your name? You've never been called by it?" Dream inquired, the topic being entirely new to him, too. 

"No, have you?" He turned the heater on, taking a spot sitting next to it, his position becoming parallel to the other. The space was wide between them. 

"By my family." 

George did not comment on it; he did not want to talk about family, not in the only time he seemed to get away from his'. So he did not reply at all. 

The conversation between them died soon after. 

Not because they had ran out of words to say, but George was dozing off; the heat of the system by him had been drowsing him. 

His eyes had been closing, but with his mask on, he just looked completely rigid. The two had only sat facing each other when one of them drifted to unconsciousness. 

Like that, the night George had spent salvaging his life in came to an end, and when he awoke, he would only be left with what seemed like a fever dream.

And the memory of the gloved boy rendered a warped reality.


	6. 6

"Wake up," a voice resounded into George's ears. When he opened his ears, though, it was gone, along with its owner, like a wisp of wind. 

He found himself on the ground of the same position he had dozed off in hours prior, the only difference being the warmth that came from the sun that had situated itself at the medial of the sky. His straightened himself up, confusion clouding his memory, for short seconds. 

Until he remembered. 

He had been caught by a drone yesterday, and someone had helped him escape. Though, he could not recall his ID number. He had been sure he had asked him for it. 

Without further thought, he began to stand, deciding it was in his best interest to leave the office as soon as he could; had he been found trespassing in broad daylight, he would have to suffer just as bad a consequence as being caught by a drone.

Swiftly, he walked back to the balcony he had entered from yesternight. His hypothesis of there being a staircase that led to the bottom of the building being correct, he began descending down several flights as fast as he could, tumbling over his feet quite a few times.

Eventually, he made it back into the alleyway. And to the street, where the pavement boomed with masked pedestrians, with their codes out, and their records clean. 

George fit right in. 

But he did not, mentally. Today had felt different from every other day. He felt alien; he had gone against the law, something that none of the people surrounding him have done. It did not weigh him down with guilt, though. He had dealt with that feeling for long enough at the place he called home to know what it meant, and this was not it. 

He felt divergent, but differentiation was not bad. In contrast, it brought a tinge of zest to his stomach. It was a vigorous sentiment. 

Anyone else from those around him would have been overwhelmed with turmoil, or have already handed themselves in to the council. But George did not feel that. 

Because George had done another mistake, prior to last night's.

He had stopped taking the mandatory pills supplied by the higher congress, and it made him walk off of the straight line he had not dared step outside since the beginning of his life. 

Perhaps it had been a small crime leading up to another, or if it had all rooted from simply not taking the pill. Anything beyond the point of behavior had been unknown to him. However, it had been the genesis of his hectic night, and he would remember its effect on him in the future. 

While mindlessly walking, he found himself nearing his home, and it only twisted the corners of his mouth downwards. 

His night may have been different from every other night, but that was over, and it was time to go back home. To her. Where nothing would change, and where he would lower his head in ignominy, for what remained of his days. 

The rest of the minutes it took him to arrive at his house were spent in disconsolation. Approaching the front door, a heavy sigh left his lips, his hands hanging by the lock. 

He brought his left hand towards it, scanning his code and unlocking the door. His home had been cold, like every other day, with the only sound reverberating through it being his shoes creaking against the ligneous floor. 

To him, it had been the most dreary place he had stepped foot in. It had been the aftermath of the life he had lived under its roof, and the many years that had evanesced what remained of the jovial family he called his own into nothing but a buried memory.

It had been the arcane events that happened here, and the woman who only stuck around to remind him of them, that completely dejected him with every step he took further into the house. 

When he got to the stairs, the side of his head burned. His mother had been staring at him, and that alone was enough for him to sprint up the short stairs that led to his room. 

He locked his door as soon as he was inside, throwing his body onto his bed soon enough. His body faintly ached from the position he had slept in for the past hours, and his eyes were burning with sleep deprivation. 

His head hit the pillow, but he did not sleep. For long minutes, his eyes remained shut, but his consciousness did not fade for a moment. Even though he had been home, the charge he had felt yesternight did not leave his chest. 

It may have been the extreme tedious conditions he had been living in that drove him to delirium after he had done something that he should not have. A crime, that as seconds separated him from, made him feel more of its buzz. 

When he opened his eyes again, he saw the familiar white pill he had to take this morning. He made no move towards it. 

Instead, he only watched it, recalling all the things he had done the night before. His clothes had been completely dry, now, but the aftermath of the shock from his body hitting the glacial water lingered on his skin. 

It was not a bad feeling, to him. 

It may have been his lack of rest casting thoughts into his mind, but a part of George, right then, had wished he had savored the moment. 

The only time he had forgotten about 405.


	7. 7

All through the morning, and afternoon, George slept through an incessant nightmare. 

When he awoke, cold sweat feathered his forehead, creating an uncomfortable feeling between him and his mask. His head ached with hazy reminiscence of the past, and the universe brought it back to him every time his consciousness drifted to its control. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he was impelled into the agonizing abyss of guilt he had dug for himself. 

He immediately took his mask off, walking to his bathroom. His hands reached towards the faucet, turning it on. Icy water coated his fingers before he splashed it onto his face. 

George raised his head, staring ahead at his reflection, a blank expression on his face. He traced his own face. 

Al though he had just woken up, he looked tired, and dull. 

His stomach rumbled; he had not eaten anything for the past day, but he did not want to. Especially since his mother may have still been lurking in the kitchen. He would rather sleep hungry than be under her scrutinizing eyes and breathy reminders. 

He walked back to his bedroom, eyeing the clock on the wall.

It had been 10 pm, which meant he had plenty of time to leave for a meal and make it back in time. His feet dragged him towards his closet, where he changed his clothes from the dirtied ones from the day prior, then towards the pill he had neglected altogether this morning. He picked it up, stuffing it into his jacket; it would have been bad if his mother was to find it. 

Adjusting his mask on, George left his home as fast as he could, making his way to the nearest cafe he could find, and the same one he found himself dining in for the past weeks. 

Cafe Nilla. 

He walked in, a short chime of a bell sounding as the door opened and closed behind him. There, he was greeted by a now familiar aroma of baked foods. On display was a large variety of pastries, bread, and pie. He eyed each one with hungry eyes.

"Hello!" A woman's voice broke him from his trance, pulling his head upwards from the food. "How may I help you today?" 

"Hi," he replied to her, "I'd like to get 4 slices of banana bread." 

"Same as always," she noted, tapping onto the register in front of her, "anything to drink?" 

"Water please." 

● ● ●

George had taken the food to-go, just so he made sure he would make it back home in time. Though, his rumbling stomach did not let him finish his walk before it stopped him at a park. He sat down on one of the benches, placing the paper bag that contained his food on his lap. 

After retrieving a piece of bread from the bag, he placed a big chunk of it between his teeth, beginning to eat it. 

The taste of warm banana coated his tongue. His taste buds had gotten accustomed to it; it had been the only thing he ate for a while. His mother had begun staying home these days, for reasons unknown to him, and it only pressured him into doing irrational things. Perhaps that had been what made him discard the pills yesterday, and today: pressure. 

George did not particularly like bananas, but they grew on him, so he ate them. 

He finished his food in silence, with the only sounds audible being the drifting winter breeze and the faint steps of people on their way home. 

When he stood, he discarded the paper bag into the trash bin beside him and started to make his way back to his house. His days were beginning to feel completely monotonous, and eventless. He felt useless. He had not gotten any jobs in the past months. He was not lamentable at programming, but he had no motive to do it anymore. So he stayed at home, in his room, and occasionally went out for meals. 

That had been his life ever since that day, six months ago.

The streets were beginning to clear - a vivid indication that it had almost been time for lockdown. George took bigger steps. 

Only short minutes passed until he was stood in front of his door. The dull grey on the lock was one swipe away from becoming a darker grey, and chilling stillness of the place made it seem ghostly. Even though he had not wished to go in, he knew he had to; it was nearly time, and the drones would catch him otherwise. 

His left hand hovered over the lock, code nearing the sensor. 

But they never touched. 

And George turned the other way, making yet another mistake.


	8. 8

George days ago would have thought he was crazy.

Even now, he would have, but he could not bring himself to think, especially he was one sound away from getting caught by a drone.

Déjà vu sparked in his mind as he tried to breathe as slowly as he could, his heart beating slightly less erratically than it did the night prior. He had decided not to go back tonight, out of his own free will, and even though he knew it had been a mistake, he still did it. 

It was reckless than spontaneous, but George could not bring himself to spend another night like the past months' nights. Not when he had seen what went down behind the closed doors of lockdown. It was different, and it made him forget about his home, and his life altogether. 

When he stood outside, and the tenebrosity of the sky enveloped the atmosphere, there was nothing to his identity but a label: rebel, and it was that dissociation with himself that pushed him away from the door. 

He clutched the rock he had picked up in his left hand, ready to use it if the circumstance allows it. Fortunately, he did not need to, because it seemed his feet swiftly took him from alleyway to another without interruption. 

Perhaps he had always been quick on his feet, but the city did not allow him to discover that. 

Unconsciously, the boy had been making his way back towards where he landed in water the night before. It was nothing but a series of quick, guileful sneaks from his home and to the water border of the city, but it electrified his chest with an emotion unknown to him. 

He could see the familiar bricked bridge, and instead of jumping into the river again, he steadily slid down the inclined path between him and the river bank. 

Mud and grass adhered the bottom of his shoes, but he walked across the sticky ground until it parched, and he was under the bridge. 

It had been dark, but not pitch; a singular bulb had slightly lit up the crossway under the bridge, and he could see everything around him. No one had been there, and he would have continued his path along the river had it not been for his body crashing onto the stiff ground with a vigorous thud. 

The attack galvanized George into shooting his legs upwards in an attempt to get whoever had pounced him off, but no matter how much he struggled, he could not get the heavy weight off of him. 

Seeing his tries go to no avail, he decided to twist his body, freeing his arms from underneath him and elbowing the force behind him. 

He was successful, and his feet found the ground immediately after he recovered. He abruptly turned to run, his flight instincts kicking in, but he was caught by his right wrist. A gasp escaped his lips, and he attempted to break free of the hold for seconds before the other party spoke. 

"George."

The struggling boy's eyes perked at the familiar voice behind him, his chest heaving at the sound of his own name being spoken aloud.

It had taken him several seconds to register who his attacker had been.

"You-" He turned around, then paused, searching his memory for fragments of the night before, "Dream."

"Why are you here? It's lockdown," Dream let him go, the question slipping out of him as if ordinary.

'I'm here because it's lockdown,' he almost said aloud, but decided to keep to himself. George just shook his head, raising his shoulders in an insouciant manner. "I don't know, why are you?" He redirected the question at the smiley-masked boy, eyeing his figure from where he stood in front of him. 

"I thought we've already established that I'm an adrenaline junkie, an outlaw," he repeated George's exact words from yesternight, the words leaving his mouth nonchalantly. Dream had been studying the ground for short seconds before he bent down. George's eyes followed him. 

And they almost bulged out of their sockets when they spotted the contents of his pocket emptied onto the ground. He had seen it. 

Dream picked the white pill up, studying it between his fingers. He then returned his gaze onto the other boy, a mystic emotion swimming in his eyes.

"And it looks like I'm not the only one."

The brunette was quick to defend himself, "I'm not like you." He was not. The boy before him, in George's mind, was a demented lunatic. He had seen him as a rash stranger who enjoyed playing daredevil, with his life on the line. He was not like him, he was certain of it. 

Even with the retaliation that left George's mouth, his face burned, a small tinge of pink that blankly confirmed his small crime. His eyes faltered away from Dream as silence settled between them, and when he looked at him again, the corner of his mouth was lifted. 

George could not sense it, but an insurgent aura surrounded the other, "want to come with me?" 

He eyed him suspiciously, "where?"

"Somewhere fun."

A sharp sardonic cackle left the shorter boy's throat, "to be frank, I don't trust your definition of fun." 

Dream hummed, adjusting the back of his mask before stepping closer to him. "How come?"

"Last time you said that we both jumped off of a building," George pointed, the memory stabilizing in his mind. It had felt surreal, it still did. 

"I won't this time," he told him, eyeing him for one last time before passing his figure, and walking towards the end of the bridge. 

George sighed, the reply fanciful to his ears. He did not believe Dream for a second, "so reassuring," he mumbled to himself, voice barely over a whisper. 

"Are you coming or not?"


	9. 9

George was following Dream, on his own accord. 

He did not need the other boy to say another word before his two feet began shuffling behind him. Now, they were living the same scenario as yesterday, without the execrable drone trailing them. 

It had been strange behavior for George; he was following a stranger somewhere he was certain was insecure without spending a fraction of a second contemplating it. Still, he decided to see where it took him, because it was the only thing his mind told him to do. 

404 was lost in his adrift thoughts until his face crashed into hard cloth. 

He stared ahead, his feet taking him multiple steps back, to see that Dream had stopped walking and was staring at the floor. 

"What?" George questioned, but before he could hear an answer, he saw one. Dream had knelt down, opening path to the sewer hole on the ground. 

He stared at the taller boy when he stood back up, and had Dream been able to see his face, he would have been met with an expression of pure revulsion. 

"You're not actually thinking of that, right?"

"Don't tell me you're scared," Dream asked him, a smirk apparent in his voice, before lowering himself towards the hole. "Come on." 

George had no option but to follow him down, simply because he had nowhere else to go, and he had already made the choice to trail him tonight. He was beginning to feel more crazy as the night progressed, he was sure. He got in, and pulled the cover back on top of the hole before descending. 

Even with his limbs climbing down the ladder that led to the sewers, he retorted, "no shit I'm scared, did you forget what you did?" 

Dream was under him. "Did you forget when you jumped into a running river?"

"Are you never letting that go? It was an accident."

"I want to see what more accidents you happen to have." It was true. Dream was intrigued; he had never seen anyone jump into a river during lockdown, or even walk in plain sight during it. It struck him as fascinating. 

At that, George shook his head, his tongue twisting about itself. He prepared himself for the nauseating odor of the sewers the further down the climb he went. But it never came. 

Even when both him and Dream stood on the side path of the sewerage, he could not smell a thing of what he had expected, and he eyed the other boy strangely. He did not say anything, however, and only trailed him to wherever he had confidently strode to. 

Through their walk, George took note of several odd occurrences. On his left was a large pipe in the middle of the pathway, instead of flowing waste water. He concluded it had been contained inside the pipe, but he could not figure out why the design was as it is. The sewers were not made for leisurely walks; the channel in the middle did not make any sense. 

After several minutes of walking, and thinking, Dream's movement came to a halt. George watched him curiously until he figured out he was climbing back up to the surface. He followed him. 

When he did, he was met with an unfamiliar scenery. Before him, tall beech trees stood amidst a sea of grass, a sight he had never lived to see in the city. 

His eyes took it all in, widening the more he viewed. Behind him, Dream closed the cap of the hole, then landing his own line of sight onto the other boy. Al though he could not see him, he could feel his elated aura. 

"Why do you look surprised?" The taller boy asked the other, "you've never seen a forest before?" 

It was inutile question, with an obvious answer. The city did not contain any trees, for a very long time, and the only ones George had seen were in fantasy films. He was shocked, and rightfully so. 

For a minute, he did not respond, but began shaking his head in reply afterwards. "No." Then, he began walking towards one of the trees, his hand reaching out to it. Before he touched it, however, he turned back at Dream. A silent question was passed between them. George was unsure whether he could touch the leaves it bestowed on him. 

The other nodded, and 404's palm immediately found the closest branch to him. It was hard, and the leaves had felt dry on his fingertips, almost like paper. He was amused; it had been something he had never seen before, nor touched. It thrilled him.

Dream remained in place, watching him with arcane eyes. 

Until he turned back around, a question lacing his lips, "how did you find the place anyway?"

"What, the sewers?" 

"The forest," the word had been foreign on his tongue, mostly because it was never commonly used among people in the city. George had not noticed it right then, but he was beginning to mouth more foreign words the more time he spent in the other's company. 

Dream smiled underneath his mask, a smile that would have left George skeptic had he seen it. He replied, "I walked around." 

And he believed him. 

"It's so yellow, and red," he told him, though the forest had been completely green, the dull moonlight highlighting its hues. 

Even with the odd description, Dream passed it off as a visual error occurring due to the dimness of the night on the forest. He stepped towards the other, a perceptive approach. 

George seemed to have become buoyant upon seeing the unearthly plants, and it riveted his attention, because he had grown up around them, and watching someone turn so exultant at the sight of them granted him a feeling close to fascination. He had never seen anyone express more earnest emotion than he had. 

"So you just walk around the sewers and randomly stumble upon places like this?" George was not doubting him, but simply in awe. He sardonically thought to himself, he would also try going down the sewers from time to time if it meant he saw otherworldly things like this. 

"It's usually swarmed with drones," Dream informed him, and George abruptly looked around. "So it's best if we get going before they start showing up." 

"Okay," the shorter boy nodded, his hand reaching for one more branch before he began walking behind Dream. He picked out a leaf, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket. He gave the place one last look before descending down the stairs, and closing the top behind them. 

The walk back was simple, and George came to know why the other had chosen to take the sewers. They were the safest pathway to anywhere in the city; no drones, and no surveillance. They made him feel at ease, completely forgetting the unlawful act he had been engaging in since the beginning of the night. 

Still, it was a breath of fresh air for him, and it was all he needed the moment he had left him home. He felt alleviated of the heavy feeling of guilt that hung on his chest all day long for the past months, and it was a good feeling. 

Now, they both stood at the same place they had met in: under the bridge, beside the city's riverside. George stared at him, uncertain of how to phrase his goodbye. He stayed still for seconds before Dream beat him to it, "see you later." 

"See you."

Then, they parted ways. 

And they did not need to speak of what had happened tonight, or what would happen during the following one.


	10. 10

After George arrived at his house, he slept for a very long time. 

It was only when he awoke that he took notice of his mother's presence at the entrance to his room. Her knocks had sounded all throughout it, but she could not enter. 

He rose from where he slept, swiftly placing his mask in its place, before opening the door. 

There stood his mother, a menacing glow around her. She held a scowl behind her own veil, but he could not see it, and he did not wish to. 

"You're still here?" 

Her son stared at her, not for too long, nor too short. "I'm leaving soon," he answered timidly, a sour emotion swarming his chest. 

He remembered: she had still thought he went to work, when in fact he had been living off of the scrapes of shillings his father had put under his ID, or half of his fortune. He did not plan on telling her how he spent his day in meritless wander; it would only cause him more trouble. 

George picked his pill up, heading to the bathroom. Upon closing the door, he downed it through the toilet, flushing it. He had not known why, but it was beginning to become a habit of his', and he was subconsciously letting go of the fact that he had been disobeying the law.

He washed his face, brushing his teeth soon after. When he exited the bathroom, he found his mother still in place. It had been odd of her, but he let it go, walking over to his wardrobe. He opened his cabinet door, undressing away from her prying eyes before putting on a fresh set of clothing. 

She did not move, even when he discarded his clothes into the laundry basket. 

Had this been a normal relationship, George would have asked her what she wanted, but he did not dare speak, especially when she had been the only reason we was not sent to the council. She was the bearer of his secret.

404 walked past her, his steps becoming larger and faster by the second, as if his own home suffocated him. It had. There, the memory of his brother lingered; the ashes of what remained of their childhoods. And the fragments of the mistakes George continued to make, one after the other. 

Today, too, he went to the same cafe, and ate the same meal. Banana bread was the only thing on his breath, and the only thing he ate all day. It was filling, but it was beginning to taste timid, and his body was starting to tire down from the lack of nutrients. 

He was sat down at the same park he had been in, and his mind went what Dream had showed him the day prior. Trees.

The place surrounding him was bland, and empty. 

He was far from self-actualization, but right then, George - for the first time - felt that something was wrong with the city. 

Very wrong.

He could not pinpoint what it was, as hard as he thought, but the feeling loitered. 

And he walked around with it on his mind, the time passing like quicksand. Before he had known it, he was walking towards the riverside. 

It was wrong of him, but he could not help but take himself back to the place that brought short zephyr of verve to his life. 

So he found himself under the bridge, with the same muddy grass beneath his feet, this time with the sun up. Though he would not admit to it, he was waiting for the stranger he had met a few days back. It was hasty, and impulsive, but that was just who he was. George was reckless. 

He did not know when Dream would arrive; he had always been there before him, so he just sat, staring at the running water beneath him. 

No one had passed him, for the long hour it took for the sun to set. 

"You're early," a familiar voice snapped him out of his trance, making him abruptly turn his head to his right. 

"You are too." 

George got up, dusting the back of his clothes before making his way towards Dream. Their masks veiled their faces, again, and George was glad. The anticipation on his face was stupidly apparent. 

"So eager to follow? I thought you didn't trust someone like me," Dream repeated the other's words from the night prior. His words were lighthearted, and he took lead in front of the other boy. 

George picked his tone up, "I just want to see what other places you've colonized before I report you to the council."

A chuckle sounded from the taller boy, and it did not go unnoticed by George.

They were walking on the streets, and Dream's gloved hands found their way into his pockets.

"Why are we taking the street?" 

"It's not lockdown yet, and I need to pick something up from somewhere." 

George nodded, al though the other boy could not see him. He only tried his best not to lose track of him. The street was crowding; everyone was rushing to get back to their homes after work. It was a good time to blend in with others. 

Dream soon stopped in front of a tall building, pressing on one of the numbers to gain access. He did, and he walked in, stepping into an elevator, followed by George. 

A silent question lingered in the shorter boy's mind, but it remained unasked for long seconds. They only knew each other for days, and he did not know where his boundaries stopped, but he decided to ask nonetheless, "what are you getting?"

"You'll see."

The elevator chimed with a ding, indicating their arrival at the specified floor. They both got off, and Dream walked up to one of the first doors ahead of them, knocking on it. 

On the other side of it, loud sounds erupted, one of which included a thump. Then, it was opened seconds later, revealing a disheveled girl with a thin white mask on, and revealing clothing that exposed her pale brown skin.

"Dream, come in," she welcomed him before turning to the boy behind him. "This is?"

George contemplated telling her his name seeing how she had called Dream by his', but decided against it. The fewer the amount of people who knew his name was, the better. "404," he responded.

"Take a seat, I'll get your stuff soon," she pointed them to a nearby sofa, but George did not pay much attention to that. What had caught his eye was the amount of junk that scattered across the ground. Various mechanical parts, of different material and size, laid across the floor, and there was barely enough space to navigate through the flat.

He followed Dream to where he sat, and was surprised at how fast he was to maneuver around the clutter. It seemed to George that he had come here often.

Dream sensed the other's small bewilderment, and decided to speak on it instead of staying in silence, "she gets like this when she gets stuck on something." 

"Stuck on something?"

"She's a techie."

"Oh."

It made sense. He looked around, the mess no longer looking like complete trash, but an incomplete project. He had seen it all before, back when he worked, but he never bothered taking interest in it, because it was always the same robotics getting repeated, time and time again. 

Still, he could not help but glance at the hanging monitor that hung on his left. It was large enough to read from, even as far away as he was from it. 

Upon watching it, a familiar programming language caught his eye.

It had been C9X+, the language that operated most systems in the city, and the most arduous. At first, he was taken aback; it had been a rare sight to see. It was evident to him that the girl who had lived here was a freelancer, but programmers with C9X+ knowledge were usually always lucky with jobs, but another fact had captured his attention.

"5 Kronns a gram," she spoke coming back, a transparent small bag in one of her hands. 

"Your prices are getting higher, Audre," Dream commented, eyeing the intoxicating substance she held. Short conversation.

"I'm sure you can handle it," Audre placed the bag atop the coffee table in front of them. "That's 10 grams." 

"There's a logical error at line 368," the words left George's mouth before he could stop them. It was an easy observation; he had grown accustomed to the lines he had seen everyday months ago. 

Both pairs of eyes were on him. Especially Dream's. 

"What?" Audre asked him, following his line of vision. 

"The code. There's a logical error." 

Abruptly, the girl walked over to the same monitor he had looked at, staring at the same line he had mentioned, for long moments, before she turned back to the two of them. 

"You," she gaped at him, "take this free of charge this time around," she told Dream, sliding him the clear bag of substance. 

"To what do I owe this?"

"He just saved me days' worth of rage," she shook her head, "shit, how did I miss that?" She mumbled to herself before toying with the strap of her top. She was on her way back into the other room before she turned back at them, "well? Scurry out, I've got work to do."

Like that, Dream grabbed the bag she left on the table and began walking to the door. "See you." 

"Bye."

It was a casual interaction, with an equivalent exchange. The pair made their way back to the elevator, and out of the building, onto the streets. That was when Dream decided to speak. 

"You're a tech too?"

"No, I'm just a coder," he answered him honestly, steps becoming wider to catch up with the taller boy.

The blonde hummed, in obvious train of thought, before he spoke again, "can you hack into systems within the same algorithms?"

"You're asking me if I can hack?" George walked appalled at his question; it was too out of the blue, and nobody had ever asked him that before. Ever. "That's illegal, and they don't even teach that at colleges." 

"Well, can you?" 

George looked around them. The streets surrounding them had almost been empty; everyone had gone home. He gulped, lowering his voice, he told him, "I know how, but I've never tried."

Dream's gaze stayed on the other, as if studying him. George noticed.

"What?" 

"You're stranger than I thought." 

"Strange how?"

"You've been calling me a scandalous outlaw since we met, yet here you are," he cracked a smile, his words bouncing off as humorous, "the sly little hacker." 

"You're exaggerating, I haven't hacked anything, ever," George scoffed, faking offense. When, in fact, he had enjoyed the topic. He had never discussed it with anyone before, he could not have. 

"Tonight, then." Dream put his plan into words, the vowels leaving his mouth nonchalantly. 

It was the shorter boy's cue to look at him in perplexity. He could not believe him. Every time he thought he had seen the most of Dream's demented train of thought, he was proven wrong. He was unceasingly devising new ways for them to get captured in. And George would follow him. 

"You're devious."


	11. 11

It had been lockdown, and 404 was following Dream's trail. Again. In the sewers. 

"Are we really doing this?" The shorter of the two asked, his fingers fumbling with one another. 

It made Dream slow down in his steps, and walk side to side with the other, finally looking at him. "What, you can't do it?" 

"No way," George shook his head. He was confident in his skills, even though never implemented. He knew what he was doing, especially in programming. "I can do it, it just feels odd."

When he received no answer for short seconds, he continued, "what do you want to hack into?" 

"You'll see, it's two exits away."

And it was. After they had passed two ladders, Dream stopped at the third, looking back at George. "Up here." 

They both ascended up the ladder, closing the top after they had stepped back onto the streets. In front of them stood a small building, measly in comparison to the city's prodigious skyscrapers. 

Dream glanced at George, and he knew what he wanted. 

So, he stepped forward towards the ligneous door that separated them from the inside, where an ID lock, much like the one he had at home, was situated. 

It was bizarre, George thought. Using a home security system for a commercial building was dangerous, and insecure. It was fairly easy to corrupt it. It was uncalled for, and scarce, and he wondered if Dream had known that taking him to this particular building. 

Nonetheless, he uncapped the top of the lock, revealing an open-source electronic board. He pulled out the first jumper wire, orange in color, making the device buzz, a holographic view of a code displaying in front of him. 

"What are you doing?" Dream asked him, curious about the process, his aberrant eyes watching the holograph that had just appeared. 

"Editing the code," he scrolled through the program, "this is really unreliable; I was able to enter the system through physical action." Then, he stumbled upon the familiar line of code he had seen a thousand times over: the access pointer. 

Like that, he changed one simple variable, and closed the interface, all with Dream's gaze on his fingers. 

George looked back at him, a veiled coy smile appearing behind his mask. It had been fast, and easy, but he felt proud of himself; it was his first time hacking into anything that wasn't his own belonging. "It's open," he told the other, voice full of assurance. 

And it was. Dream pushed the door, and it swayed unlocked from his touch. He turned to George, a disbelieving breath leaving his throat. "Good samaritan my ass," was the only thing he said before he stepped into the building. The other followed, but not without retorting his statement under his breath. 

The place was dark, but not for long. Dream had switched the lights on using the switch on the wall, and George was taken aback for the third time since their meeting. 

"A pool?" He spoke, a puzzled tone lacing his words, "what are we doing here?"

"Swimming."

Dream was nearing the edge of the pool, and he turned back to the brunette, a daring aura emitting from his body. "You coming?" 

"We'll get wet," he worded, his mind taking him back to the unpleasant experience he had when he jumped into the river days ago. The coldness was repulsive, from beginning to end. 

"That's the point," the taller male riposted, his hand unzipping his jacket, soon traveling towards the edge of his shirt. 

In George's eyes, the pool had been a sparkling periwinkle color, and it called out to him. Not because he fancied jumping into ice cold waters during the glacial winter season, but because it was spontaneous, and new. 

However, the pool was not the only thing that had caught his eye. 

Dream had completely taken his dark top attire off, and he was bare chested. He was beginning to strip out of his pants, too.

The rigid boy felt the sides of his head, concentrated at his ears, burning with a smidge of warmth before he moved his line of vision elsewhere. He was not used to seeing anyone barely clothed. 

He concluded: Dream really was going to swim.

And after some time, he would follow him in that, too. It seemed okay. 

"You need help getting out of that?" 

"No, you go in first," George scoffed, seemingly for the nth time today. Dream was becoming more easygoing with him, though they had only known each other for three nights. It seemed facile being with him. Perhaps it had been the series of unlawful events that led to their alien friendship, George was beginning to open up to the other, too, nimbly. 

He started taking his top off, a conscious nerve perking up at the exposure of his own skin. He felt sensitive to prying eyes, especially since he had never exposed much of his skin to anyone before, it did not feel normal to him. But right now, it was okay; nothing about what he had been doing tonight was normal. 

Dream had already hoisted himself into the pool when George dropped his own pants down, his underwear being the only means of garment veiling him from complete nudity. 

He began descending into the pool by placing one foot into it, the coolness of the water electrifying his warm skin. 

"It's so cold," were the first words to leave his mouth upon dipping his second foot in. "How the hell are you taking it?" Dream was nearing him, a guileful thought on his mind. 

"You wouldn't feel it if you just jumped in," he told him, a devious smile dancing behind his mask. Had George been able to see his face, he would have withdrawn his two feet from where they rested by Dream, but he could not. 

As a result, his ankle was seized, a force hauling him to the waters before him. Dream had pulled him in. 

George landed on his back, the piercing cold colliding with his entire body as the water enveloped it. He quickly recovered from the shock, waving his arms to resurface. 

"You bastard!" A momentary fury filled the fallen male, and his body grew more hot against the water as he turned to his first instinct, and tried to jump Dream down the way he had did him. 

He was able to, and it brought him a temporary sense of victory, before he was pulled down, too. 

His mask had always been secured in place, but right now, it had been wobbling off of his face; the impact of their movement was too fast, and too strong. He abruptly moved his hands to fix it. Dream took the opportunity to wrestle out of his hold and fold George's hands against the pool's ground, above his head, as he took position above him.

The brunette hastily attempted to shake his hold off, but his tries were to no avail; he had already been pinned down, underwater.

He stared ahead, where the other male hovered over him, evidently smug. He did not move from where he stayed, daring the other to break free of his hold. It had been a challenge. 

And George took it, fast, especially because he had been running out of air to breathe. 

Looking around him, he found nothing that would aid him in knocking the other off of himself, so he decided to use his body.

And he lunged his head forward, pounding onto Dream's head, and feeling his wrists break free of his hold. It worked, and for moments, he forgot that he had been underwater, and separated his lips in a triumphant smile. 

Water immediately seeped into his mouth, entering his unexpecting lungs. 

He swam to the surface, continuous coughs leaving his throat, and his eyes burning from the chlorine that washed them. George coughed and heaved for seconds before Dream arose from the water, too, in the same state. 

George thought he would curse at him, or at least say anything, but he did not. Dream only panted, his chest rising and falling as he watched George, and for moments, the shorter boy wondered if he had hit his head too hard. 

Then, Dream swam closer to the other. 

Both of their hearts had been beating erratically, their fast breathing turning them a frenzy.

"What?" George moved back, gaze doubtful against Dream's cunning figure. 

"Want to do something bizarre?" A hazy smile leaned on his lips, one George could not yet see. 

A candid laugh erupted from his mouth, his words slipping his tongue with ease: "more bizarre than breaking in here and drowning each other?"

He did not know what the boy in front of him thought of. Not now, nor before. He was an impetuous person, with odd decisions, and it made him mystical. 

And for the fourth time in their lifetimes, George was taken aback by Dream.

Though, this time, his chest heaved with a fusion of lack of breath and shock. 

Dream's hands had been behind his mask, a click sounding from where they had been positioned. There was one thing George could see, and it made his head spin. 

Dream had taken his mask off.


	12. 12

George gasped, for more reasons than one.

He watched the other's bare face, his eyes blinking, and his rationale pleading him to look away. It was taboo. He should not look. He should not be seeing this. 

But he was, and he was staring at Dream, with every feature on his face. 

"You're crazy," he blurted out, still in disbelief. 

George was looking at someone else's face who was not himself. Even the thought of it had sounded absurd, but here he was. 

The first thing he noticed were his eyes. He did not know eyes could look so yellow. George stared at the green orbs before him, his sight deciphering them as golden. They had looked so scintillating against the bright spotlights above the pool, and for short moments, he was dazzled. 

It seemed he had been so engrossed in studying the only other face he had seen, that he did not discern the fact that his own mask was gliding downwards for the second time tonight. It could not have fallen off due to gravity alone; the back hinge was too secure. 

"You're crazy too, George." 

Before he could sense it, the hinge of his mask was clicked, unbuckling the straps behind is head. His mask plummeted into the water of the pool, leaving his own face exposed. He watched his veil fall, and the water swallow it. 

"Are you insane?!" 404 shrieked, his head tilting upwards. He only realized what he had done seconds after his face was revealed to the other. And his breath hitched. 

He could not put his mask back on; the act had already been done. The law was once again breached, and it was another secret that would have been buried between the two. 

George, for the first few seconds, felt violated, but it was a whim that evaporated into diffident warmth when he saw Dream watching him with riveted eyes. It was strange, and he felt crazed. This was different from all the other times they had rebelled. 

It was the pause for long moments that made George study the other's features, in detail. The only face he had ever seen besides his own was in front of him, and in his eyes, it was alluring. Bizarre, yet captivating, and it made his chest rise times too many. 

The shorter of the two sighed, his nerves falling from the temporary spike they had been on, "so that's how you look like, huh?" 

Dream grinned, and for the first time since their meeting, George saw it: the edge of his lips sloping upwards, and the sides of his brows rising. "Like it?" He asked him insouciantly, a playful timbre sounding between each syllable he mouthed. 

"You look really different from me," the other observed, his gaze wavering from Dream's face when it reached his chin. 

"Really?" His smirk extended to a smile, "how?" And George sensed that he had been wanting to receive a certain answer from him, but he could not tell what it was, so he shook his head instead. 

"I don't know, your face is different, and your eyes are too," he told him. Then, he looked back at him, a new question leaving his mouth: "how are you so nonchalant about this? Have you seen someone's face before?" 

A small part of the other's spirit dimmed at the question, but his answer was of the same tone, "yeah, many faces."

"Oh." 

'He was an outlaw', George thought. It only made sense that way. 

He cleared his throat as the conversation died, and that was when he realized that his mask had been long gone underwater. It seemed the boy before him did, too, at the same time. And it spread a mischievous grin onto his lips.

Al though 404 was not used to facial expressions, he was able to decipher the other's intentions with a simple glance. He was quick with codes, and with people. 

He briskly dove down to fetch his mask, but Dream was already lower than him, hand reaching out for it. The situation escalated to something that resembled their playful fight minutes prior, but this time, with both of their faces exposed. It was easier to navigate around in the water that way; their masks would not slip off with excessive movement, and they were able to swim as forceful as they had to be. 

George found his way to his mask, in Dream's hand, and began pulling at it. But the blonde would not let go. In contrast, he pulled it away, a ludic attempt at getting the other boy to try harder. 

And he did. 

He pushed Dream, fast enough to catch him off guard, and hard enough to make him lose grip on his mask. Through those idle moments of motion, he seized it once more, and rose to the surface. 

Immediately after breathing in a generous amount of air, he laughed. "You're very slow."

Dream was above water level, too. "Who would have expected a small thing like you to jump me so brutally?" 

"Who are you calling small?" George scorned, his unoccupied hand traveling to his wet hair to pull it away from his eyes. 

George had not paid much attention to it; he was far too occupied dealing with the shock that came with finally seeing another's face, but Dream had been eyeing him raptly, ever since he had taken his mask off. 

"Aren't you?" Dream rhetorically questioned, his lips still lopsided. He looked poised, and more relaxed, now than ever, ever since their meeting. And George wondered if revealing his face had contributed to it. 

He was becoming more comfortable around the other, too, even with the strange empty feeling lingering on his face. 

Dream continued his talk, this time, more elaborately, "small and pretty, like porcelain."

It made 404's throat tighten, and a choke to be made. He coughed in disbelief. "You've lost it," he spoke, expression hanging in the cool air between them. George meant it. He had never heard words like Dream's directed at him in his lifetime, and right then, he felt puzzled. 

Dream was enigmatic. Out of the ordinary; completely baffling. Even with those things in mind, George's ears still tinged with a light hue of pink, the color spreading to the sides of his face. And it did not escape Dream's perceptive gaze. 

"George," he neglected the previous conversation with ease, mind racing to all the future possibilities of what he could do with the other tonight. Their time was limited, and morning would come in hours' time. 

"What?"

"Race me."


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy with finals for the past 2 weeks, schedule back up as usual!

"Hey! You cheated!"

George was panting, hard. 

He had just lost his nth race with the other, and all he could do was sulk at his loss. Seven times, he had lost, even when he had a head start. 

"I cheated?" Dream attempted a laugh, but it came out as a breathy chuckle, his own lack of oxygen making his words fumble, one over the other. "Admit you're slow."

"Admit you're a cheater," George retorted, his head satirically shaking. 

"How did I cheat? I just swim a lot," Dream told the other who had completely directed his vision at him, all the way across the pool. It was awfully quiet and echoey; both of them could clearly hear one another. 

It piqued the short boy's interest, and he decided to ask: "you've come here before?" 

"No, I usually swim in a larger pool, about ten times the size of this one."

The statement sounded odd, but coming out of Dream's mouth, it was completely true. 

"You know I don't believe you," he said, even though his mind thought completely otherwise. It was bizarre by itself that they had come here tonight, but the concept of Dream breaking into somewhere bigger, and more perilous, was not far from reality. In all truth, George had only told him that because he wanted to see. 

Dream's green eyes, golden in George's vision, glowed against the transparent water oscillating between them. He knew what George insinuated, and he decided to go along with it: "you don't?"

"No," a small smirk extended on his lips, "maybe you should prove it." 

"Maybe I will."

"Go on, then," George watched him with daring eyes, expecting the most. But to his surprise, Dream did not oblige.

"Another day," he replied, boosting his body out of the pool with his arms and taking a seat on the edge. His eyes returned to the male facing him. 

He did not bother hiding his curiosity towards his change in demeanor. "Why?"

Dream noticed, and kept the same response, "we can't go there today." He had a reason, and it had been one George was never meant to know. 

"Whatever it is, I can get into it," he nonchalantly replied, his own hands swinging forward to swim back to the other side of the pool. It had been a lighthearted response, and Dream could not help but laugh. It was not because George had had a sudden change of attitude, but because he was certain he could not do what he claimed. 

"What happened to the humble hacker from earlier?" 

"He got experience." 

"A single day's worth?"

"Better than none."

By the time their short conversation came to an end, George had already pushed himself back to the beginning of the pool, placing his arms over the edge where Dreams sat. He leaned his head on them, closing his eyes, and letting his nose intake the aroma of chlorine that had infested his nostrils. 

"Did you like the pool?"

"The water was nice, I liked it," he answered truthfully, then pausing. He let a small grin pass his lips, "you trying to drown me every chance you get, not so much."

Dream had his gaze settled onto the waters before them. George noticed.

And he took the opportunity to let his own eyes linger onto the other's figure for the short while they could. In his mind, all that infiltrated his thoughts was the word different. 

Everyone looked the same in the city when they were all very different. George could not see it before, but now that he had seen someone other than himself, he has come to realize: there is individuality in each person. Whether it be the way they look or the way they act, and Dream was proof of it. 

Though he was an outlaw, and that had already deviated him from everyone else, it was only one thing that differentiated him, and he was certain other things distinguished him from any other person walking the same streets he walked.

Just as his bumble pondering began to turn deeper, he was met with the other's stare. He jumped from where he was in the water, the sudden turn Dream had made taking him off-guard. He wanted to look away, just as he had every other time their eyes had met tonight, for the sake of his own sanity; it was a very unfamiliar feeling to him. But this time, he did not. 

One thing that had immediately captured George, however, was the golden glow of Dream's orbs. The boy could not see green, but the color his vision had allowed him to see seemed more mesmerizing to him. 

Eye contact was intense. This was something the boy had learned in the short hours he had had his mask off for, and right now, he was beginning to get hot. In his cheeks, and ears. 

One of them was feeling something the other was not. 

Abruptly, Dream's wet palm found itself atop George's stretched hand. The boy still in the water looked at him, face a small shade of pink. 

"Let's do something crazy."

George ignored the hand on his own, moving his gaze to the other male, "what, breaking in here wasn't enough for you?" 

"You should know the answer to that by now," he responded, earning him a small chuckle from the boy in the water. 

"Okay." 

Like that, the pair re-wore their clothes, dampening them with their wet bodies. They fixed their masks in place, then, they exited the building, leaving it the way they entered. 

George walked beside Dream, his eyes keeping track of the road they took. He did not question their destination, because he was certain he would receive an answer sooner or later. And he did. 

He spotted the sewers on the ground and figured they were going to take the underground path to wherever their destination was. So, he went in first, climbing down the familiar ladder and waiting for Dream to follow. 

He did, closing the lid behind him, and joining George back in the traceless path.

"Where are we going?" The shorter of the two finally decided to ask. 

"It's a surprise," Dream smirked, his mask veiled it, "you'll like it I think." 

Dream was leading him to what was a routine he did every day, but George did not know that. And he did not know of the secrets that surrounded the enigma that is Dream. All he knew, right now, was that he was following an outlaw. Perhaps, becoming one. 

"Why do you sound so ominous?"

The rhetorical question was left hanging in the air between them until one halted his movements, stopping the other, and indicating their arrival. 

The pair ascended the ladder, pushing the lid off of the top of the sewer hole and revealing a field before them. 

The first thing George had sanctioned were the various trees scattered around the swaying grass. He turned to Dream, a silent question on his lips, but he did not get to ask it. Before he could utter the first syllable, he was pulled towards a large sequoia tree. 

"Let's climb."

"What?" The puzzled boy finally talked, his bewilderment evident in his tone. It was explainable; he had only seen trees in real life yesterday, the only instance he had seen of them before being on television, and even then, they were not climbed on.

It had been a very outlandish suggestion, much like all of his other ones. But for the first time since their meeting, George did not question it. Even with the intimidating height of the tree towering over him, he released a deep breath before he followed Dream's footsteps towards it. 

He analyzed the way the other boy's hands expertly latched onto the branches closest to him, pulling himself upwards, and farther away from the ground, and decided to mimic. 

Although physically inexperienced, and slightly fatigued from the trip, George managed to copy Dream's path, climbing wobbly up the tall tree. He did not dare look down and only stared ahead at Dream's ascending figure. After what felt like long minutes, he stopped.

And George realized that he must have reached the very top. He was not far behind, the distance separating them being several feet. 

"You climb fast," Dream commented, his slightly muffled voice becoming clearer. He had taken his mask off, revealing what seemed to have become his signature smirk. 

It caught George off-guard, and after short seconds, he reached out for a smaller branch, grabbing it and adding his weight on top of it. He had not realized his mistake until the eyes before him began to widen. 

The bough George had held onto was leading downwards, foreshadowing its eventuality. The boy panicked, glancing at the branch, and back at Dream. 

His arm was clutched, in fewer seconds than three, and the tree branch he had depended on broke, falling the sizeable distance between him and the ground. 

Dream pulled him upwards, onto the large bough that had extended from the top of the tree, a short breath leaving his own mouth. "Be careful." 

"Thanks," George sighed in relief, a sheepish smile extending onto his lips, though his restful state was short-lived. 

As a result of the branch falling, a familiar buzzing began to near, and each of the pair had known where it came from. The noise must have alarmed a drone nearby, and it was inching closer. 

The masked of the two rose in unease, prepared to climb down, but he was stopped. 

George was suddenly pulled closer to the tree's body, where Dream stuck his own back, and it bewildered him. He looked at Dream with questioning eyes. He knew they needed to get down and to run, but he had pulled him back up with him. Worsening their spot, even more, he stayed still, on top of the tree.

"What are you doing?" The brunette whispered to him, "we need to go." He turned towards the path he took up, but his shoulder was nudged.

"These drones can't see past a certain amplitude," Dream told him, his tone poised.

The statement piqued his curiosity. "How do you know that?" 

"Trust me," he responded. Another obfuscate answer, more mystifying than the previous. Rather than answering George, Dream only created more questions in his mind. 

Questions he would have put deep, thorough thought into had he not been pressed against the other's shoulder. He took comfort in his mask, still on his face, that shielded him away from the effects of his flashing adrenaline rush on his face. 

The feeling did not last long, though, because Dream's hand was on his mask in seconds, as if detecting his thoughts.

"What are you doing?" George asked him, voice still no louder than a whisper. He did not know what had even driven him to talk, a drone had hovered right below them, waiting for a sign of life to expose. 

"Taking your mask off," Dream rejoined, hands already behind the other's head, unfastening the buckle of the mask. 

George immediately pushed his falling mask back onto his face, his heart beginning to beat faster, for more reasons than one. "Why?"

"I want to see you," he laced his fingers over George's pulling them away from his mask. 

He let him, slowly. "Why?"

"Why not? You have a pretty face." 

Just as the words slipped through George's ears, color escaped from his neck to his cheeks. His chest grew heavier. An alien feeling. Perhaps it had rooted from never receiving a compliment that related to his physical appearance, or the fact that Dream had mentioned it more than once, now. But to him, it was odd. Even though he had not decided on it yet, odd may have been good. 

"Stop saying things like that," he shook his head, with his mask leaping into the small space between his thighs.

"I only tell the truth," Dream said in response, a layered answer. 

"Have you forgotten what kind of situation we're in right now?" The buzzing sound had not ceased for a second, but Dream seemed to have taken his time in engaging him in his unabashed statements. It almost seemed like he had been certain they would not be found on the tree. 

George inched closer to him, both of their faces parallels. "Dream?" 

"Your breath smells like chamomile."

That was when George noticed it. They had been so close in proximity that the other boy was able to smell his breath. 

With his stomach tightening around itself, he abruptly withdrew.

But Dream did not.


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the nice comments, it brightens my day reading them all! Thank you for reading.   
> rigs

"Is it because you've never seen anyone's face before?" Dream asked him, face still inches away from George's. "Why do you keep looking away from me?"

Two things had struck the other boy with shock: one, the question he had no answer to, and two, the sudden hitch in his breath. 

After short thought, he replied, "I don't know." 

It had been truthful, and more oblivious than anything. He could not pinpoint the reason why he found himself avoiding eye contact with Dream. He was certain it made him feel something, hence triggering his odd course of action, but he could not pinpoint what the feeling was.

"You don't like how I look like?" Dream asked bluntly, making George's head immediately spiral in his direction. 

"No," he blurted out. He stared at him, for brief seconds, "you look," a pause. Searching his mind for words to describe the other, he found none, "you look good."

The statement made Dream hum, a satisfactory tone resonating between his lips. "Really?"

He sounded playful, almost teasing, and George picked it up. He was baiting him. 

"You're pushing it," he responded, ears a tad pinker than seconds ago, and his eyes traveling to anywhere that was not the pair before him.

The reaction brought a loud chuckle out of Dream, and it seemed both of them had forgotten about the drone under them until it levitated several feet into the air, stopped when it rustled through the leaves right in front of them. 

"Shit."

A flash flared onto both of their bare faces, blinding them for no more than moments before Dream stood on the thick log they sat on. A siren began to sound as soon as he balanced his walking towards it. 

George did not know what to do, right then, so he hid the identity code on his hand inside his jacket's pocket and watched the other. 

Dream had his face fully exposed to the drone's scrutinizing lens before he was able to grab it. Even with its robust resistance, he was able to launch it across the log he stood on, lowering himself to regain balance. The siren had stopped. 

He had anticipated it would break, but it did not, and it docked by the heel of George's shoe.

The spectacles on the drone began to pivot; it had been readjusting itself. In seconds, the fans on either side of it began to turn once more, and the flash now shone on George's face. 

His widened eyes were reflected on the lens before him, and he watched the scared image of himself with a heaving chest. 

Dream had been feet away from him, slowly making his way back across the log. He would have come for him, George was certain, but right then, all he could focus on was the fact that he was seen. The drone had scanned his face. 

It caught him, just like it had his brother. 

As if acting out of pure fright, he raised his shoe, crashing his heel onto the drone. It had bought him enough time - seconds - to move towards it, and hold it. 

His eyes clashed with Dream's confounded ones before he propelled it, with all of his might, onto the trunk of the tree, completely shattering it. 

The heavy breathing coming out of the boy's mouth created fleeting, misty clouds in front of him. He had not realized how vastly erratic his heartbeat had been until Dream was beside him. 

A low whistle sounded from him, "you don't mess around." Unlike George, who had looked like he had seen the light and come back, Dream was beginning to regain his composure, and a small smile had spread across his lips. 

The brunette sighed, placing one of his hands on his heart, attempting to calm himself down. 

"Didn't you say they couldn't see past a certain amplitude?" He questioned him several seconds later, a skeptical look on his face. 

"Can't see, not hear," Dream explained, his expression unwavering, and it made George exhale. 

It had located them because of Dream's loud laugh, which meant it had been evitable, easily so. "Idiot."

He eyed Dream, who was beginning to get down, and decided to mimic him. It was a facile way down, with gravity pulling them down along the logs they hung onto. 

Just as George took his first step onto the ground, he spoke the thought that pondered him the entire way through, "it saw us, right? Doesn't it immediately report it?"

"I hit it pretty hard, it shouldn't have been that functional. If it was, we'd be surrounded by now," the other responded, the words rolling off of his tongue forthwith, almost unhesitantly.

George dropped his eyes, his line of vision catching fragments of the broken device on the grassy soil. 

He nodded at first, but a thought kindled in his mind, and he raised his head: "but it saw you before you touched it, wouldn't it have reported you?" 

It did not make sense. The drones George had known found people and immediately reported them to the headquarters. Everything that was visible to its small lens was centralized. It had been taught to them at school, a long time ago. 

Dream was spotted, and they should have been caught by a swarm of drones by now. 

But they were not. 

"I guess I got lucky."

The boy watched him for a while, then looked away. He still could not get used to his face, or how he looked. Perhaps that fact was what made him let go of the question that persisted in his mind. 

He found his mask on the ground; it had fallen some time ago. Picking it up, he heard Dream talking. 

"Let's go 404."

● ● ●

Trepidation was long gone from George's chest, and the sun had been up. 

People were on the streets, and both of the two had been masked once more, walking side by side.

Just as they neared the rears of the city - the bridge - George turned to Dream. "See you." 

"See you tomorrow." 

Then, they parted, as they did, every day.

It seemed they had made a habit out of it. Sneaking around, after lockdown, and breaking law after law. To Dream, it had been a route of delinquency. To George, it was a way of escape, but one that ultimately led him back to the one thing he desired to be freed from. 

George was at his doorstep in minutes. He raised his hand to unlock the door, though he had no need to. It was not locked. 

The door was swung open by another figure on the other side of it. 

There stood his mother, a scowl on her face. Her hand had been open, with an item placed atop the creases of her palm. Before him was a leaf. His heart dropped. 

"What is this 404?"


	15. 15

"What?" 

George was confused. Frozen. 

"What is this? I found it in your jacket," his mother repeated, her tone as stoic as it had been every other day. Except, today, she had a reason to put him under the spotlight. 

"I don't know," he found himself answering, "I've never seen anything like that before."

Blatant lie. Trees were all over the TV. To his luck, his mother did not watch any. 

"Are you doing strange things again?" She questioned, and George shook his head. He knew exactly what she meant. 

"No, I really don't know where that came from."

The conversation should have been over by then, and the boy was ready to leave, but he was stopped by her words that followed. 

"Where have you been going so early in the morning?"

"Work," the response was automatic. Though, this time, it was the wrong answer to give.

"What kind of work do you do in just two hours? I saw you come back at seven yesterday."

His heart skipped a beat at that. He had forgotten lockdown ended by dawn, by five-thirty. 

"I'm freelancing right now," he gulped, carefully picking his words out before they left his mouth, "so it's just short jobs throughout the day."

The look on her face remained unchanged, but the vigilant look in her eyes seemed to waver. 

Then, he found the opportunity to walk through the front door. She did nothing to stop him, and that had been when he deemed their discussion over. 

The rushing adrenaline from the previous hours with Dream was back, this time, for other reasons. George refused to believe he had let something as trivial as a leaf almost expose him to someone. His mother, nonetheless. The woman who waited for him to slip, every minute of every day. 

His head began to ache as soon as thoughts of his brother came back to him, and it made him rush into the bathroom. 

He let cool water run into his sink before cupping his hands together and splashing it onto his face. His face felt hot against the glacial spray. Coldwater. 

His mind took him back to the pool, and to Dream. To his face. 

Seconds passed before he finally let his hand rest on the faucet, pushing it down. George dragged himself out of the washroom before walking to his room and plopping onto the bed. 

He closed his eyes, fatigue from the lack of sleep the previous night pulling at his eyelids, but unconsciousness did not seep into his head until several minutes after. It was Dream who occupied his mind and did not seem to leave. 

It was so, so wrong. He knew it. 

He was thinking about another man's - another person's - face. And he could not stop. Because every time he tried to remind himself of the jeopardy that came with Dream, he would let the image of his eyes into his mind. He was illicit, and even though he rejected the thought of it, he wallowed in the heady feeling his partner of crime gave him every time. 

It was a vacillating one, and he would only feel it every time he would be an inch closer than he was used to being. Now, he appears to be experiencing it more often. 

It was bewildering to him. It was a new feeling, and he had nobody to talk about it with, especially with the legal restrictions that surrounded the topic itself. 

Before he knew it, George's eyes were closing, and sleep began to pull him into its abyss. 

● ● ●

George had been at home for consecutive two days.

He was alarmed. His mother had known something was up, and he could not risk leaving the house after lockdown. She told him she had watched, and that was more than enough to get him to stay put. 

Had he been caught, by his mother nonetheless, he was set for doom. She would be the person to report him, it had been something she held onto for so long. She wanted to send him to the council. 

And she had an equitable reason for wanting so. In a sense, he had been the reason his brother, 403, and his father had been ejected from the city. The wardens had come to collect them from their own home one day, with no explanation. They were taken to the council, and they never came back. 

Fallen in madness, his mother made a connection between him and their disappearance and began believing in it, and year by year, more details were added to the flawed story. That had been what he believed.

He thought, 'at the time, he had been too young to register her perception of him, and as he grew, the disconnect between them was already established; he could not fix anything.'

In reality, he could not remember. Not his childhood, nor his late family members.

Not the shapes of their figures, nor the pitches of their voices. And he decided to completely let go of those memories; all they seemed to do was bring him confusion and woe. 

It had been night time, two thirty-four in the morning, and he was wide awake. The cotton of his blanket rubbing against his skin. Unlike the cool water of the pool, the blanket turned warm from his body heat, and he hated the feeling. It was confining.

He had only been meeting Dream after lockdown for a day less than a week, but he had already felt alien attempting to sleep at night. It was the second day he tried, and much like yesternight, he failed. 

Silence settled in the room, with nothing sounded to his ears except for his own breathing. That had been the way it was for hours. 

Until he heard clunking by the right side of his bed, and from the window. He opened his eyes, only to turn his table lamp on, and pulling his body upwards to pull apart the curtains. His heart skipped a beat too many. 

George unlocked the seal on his window, swiftly opening the window. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" He whispered in disbelief, still careful not to alarm the woman downstairs. In front of him, Dream sat on the window's rim, his mask reflecting the expression underneath it.

Before replying, the blond swung his foot over the frame of the window, shifting himself into the room. He sat on the bed, then turned to close the window behind him. 

"You were a little late, so I came to make sure you weren't arrested," he took his mask off. "You look alright."

George scoffed, a small smile fighting to lay itself on his lips. The thought of Dream coming to his house to make sure he was not dead for good was surreal, comical, almost. "How do you know where I live?"

"I have my ways," he dismissed, raising his brows at George in his pajamas. "You weren't planning on coming today too?"

The shorter of the two only then realized his mask was off, but the thought dissipated into nothing seconds after his cognizance. "No." 

He settled onto the bed, resting his full weight onto his arm that now extended between them. "What, have you decided you were too pure for the criminal lifestyle?" Dream satirically asked him, catching his eyes for the first time in days. 

"No, not yet," George responded, equally as facetious. He watched as the yellow before him stood out against the dull white wall of his room. "My mom is watching me. I can't really leave, as much as I want to." 

Dream threw his legs over the edge of the bed, standing. "Why?" 

"She found a leaf in my jacket," he sighed, helplessness evident on his face. It was a nimbly avoidable mistake. 

For several seconds, Dream traced the other's room. Then, he turned back to him.

"And you would've gotten caught again," he said, a playful tone lacing his words. George looked at him strangely, until he registered what sat on his extended hand.

"Shit," he tried to snatch the two white pills Dream had found on his desk away, but he had closed his hand into a fist before he could. 

"I'll keep them warm for you," he put them in his pockets, a sly smile extending on his lips. "Want to get out of here?" 

Even with the voice in his head urging him to run for it, George shook his head, "I want to, but I can't leave the house. I might get caught."

"We won't leave the house," Dream climbed the bed once more, his hands setting dangerously close to the other boy's. George was conscious of them. 

"What, you want to take a trip to the kitchen?" He chuckled, the thought itself amusing imagined.

"Maybe someday," Dream laughed along with him before leaning back towards the window he came through. "The roof has a really nice view at this hour of the night." 

Just as the suggestion settled in George's mind, his expression mirrored the other male's. A surge of zest flared in his eyes. 

"Let's go there."


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a bit busy lately but I'm hoping to be able to write more soon. Writing has not been the same with the lockdown. Thank you for reading, and thank you for the splendid comments :]   
> \- rigs

Dream was at the rooftop of George's house, his hand interconnected with the other boy's in an attempt to pull him up. 

"Push your feet against the upper frame of the window and I'll pull you," the blond instructed him, only to follow up with his actions after George did what he was told. 

Then, they were both on the roof. 

George propped his feet on the rocky surface underneath him, the feeling foreign to him. His thin pajamas did not do much to protect him from the cool night breeze slithering through the fabric. 

Shivering, his eyes traveled to the dim city lights in front of him. "I was scammed," he jokingly scoffed, "where's the view?"

It was not much different from what he saw through his window. He was only a few feet above in amplitude. The city lights were fainter than usual, and the sky more nebulous. In a way, it brought him a strange sense of comfort.

The momentary silence between them, too, was idyllic. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dream replied, "it's beautiful." 

His voice had been quieter. George turned to him, a small smile sitting on his lips. "What are you even looking at?" His head tilted itself in an attempt to broaden his range of vision, and it made the crease of Dream's eyes twist. 

"You." 

His word was clear, vivid in the serene air around them, and lucid to George's ears. 

Despite that, an automated response was emitted from him: "what?" He did not need a reflected image of himself to know that his pale neck had been colorized in yet another shade of pink, the color spreading to his cheeks. 

"What?" The other looked at him with assured eyes, his lopsided grin extending further on this face. 

George shook his head. "Why do you always say things like that?" 

"Like what?" 

"Don't act clueless, you know what," he leaned backward on one of his arms. 

"I really don't know what you're trying to get at," Dream let out a light chuckle, keeping his eyes on the other. 

"No one has ever seen me. I'm hypersensitive to anything relating to my face, so I react the way I do," George explained, "you're just trying to get a reaction out of me." He had concluded it, right now. It made sense. 

"Wrong," he responded. "You're not hypersensitive, try again." 

Brows raised, 404 retorted, "how do you know?"

"I've spent enough time with you to know when you began getting used to it," he returned. 

"In a week?"

Dream leaned closer towards him, his pupils dilating as the number of seconds he spent watching the other boy increased. "Wanna take another guess?"

Biting on the inside of his cheek, George browsed his mind for a reasonable explanation for his exaggerated reactions to Dream, but he could not find any. After all, all he had been taught was how to code, to do his job, his societal role. Something as trivial as stomach kneads or pressure against his ribcage was profligate. 

"I don't know," he sighed, "I don't get this." He leveled his eyes with Dream's, again. The yellow hue in them radiant, contrasting the sullen sky above them. "Help me understand."

The taller boy was taken aback. "That's awfully direct from someone who's this unaware of themselves." 

"Then tell me Dream."

Seconds passed by, and he received no response. He was about to open his mouth, but before he could, he felt a new weight on his left hand. He did not have to look away to know that it was Dream's hand. 

He was almost in a state of confusion, but what followed completely baffled him. 

Dream's other hand had risen towards George's face, cupping his cheek. Unconsciously, George leaned into his touch, his cold skin warming at the contact. 

The visible smile stayed on Dream's face whereas George's completely disappeared, his lips slightly parting at the other's proximity. 

It had been strange for George, but even with that alien feeling inside him, he was still able to acknowledge that it was not a woeful one. So, he did not move and simply waited for Dream to lead him. 

And he did. Dream's face neared him, and in seconds, a meeting point on both of their foreheads was established. This had been the closest they had ever gotten, and George's heart was hammering against his chest, making him deeply exhale. 

He had not known what this was, but his eyes began lowering from Dream's eyes. To his nose. And his lips. 

Something in him was pulling him towards them. He was unsure why, but it simply felt good being around Dream. Like this, closer. 

With his stomach coiling around itself, and the heat from Dream's hand on his face becoming overbearingly electrifying, George separated their foreheads. 

Only to connect their lips, galvanized.


	17. 17

When George had the chance of glancing at Dream's eyes again, he needed to breathe. 

He inhaled the glacial air in between them, their proximity making it harder to catch his breath. Dream watched him, too, with lips half parted. 

Seconds passed by before the taller of the two reconnected their lips, pulling the other into his embosom. And George did not push him away, as much as the mystical feeling in his stomach stupefied him. 

Right then, he was atop the roof of his house, with a criminal's lips interlocked with his'. It was wrong, on many levels, he was certain of it. But the realization alone was not enough to make him withdraw from what burned his chest with a small, sweet tinge that spread to his nerves. 

His face was warm. Warmer than always, and Dream's hand tracing over his face was the cause. 

The kiss shared between them was not amorous, and free of any inducement that was not curiosity and pure attraction. For more reasons than one. George had never kissed anyone before, and Dream was still dazzled by what the other had initiated. 

The lambent moon above them reflected on either of their skins. When the blond pulled away once more, he opened his eyes, to see the other boy's eyelashes shadowing over his red cheeks. 

He did not move. "You're full of surprises, 404." The corner of his mouth twisted to form a simper. 

Upon hearing Dream's voice, George his face in another direction. "I'm not sure if I want to be hearing that from you." He felt coy. 

"What do you want to hear then?" Dream responded, his voice below a whisper, mimicking the boy who had tried to not alarm his mother. 

"Nothing. Stop talking," he turned back to him, their eyes meeting. "Just kiss me."

His own boldness had struck him as odd, but to George, it did not matter right then. His body acted on its own, on what he wanted. And this was what he wanted. 

"I will."

He did. Dream's lips were on George's, again. This time more assuredly, his hands snaking down his face, and towards his neck. The action electrified him -- both of them. 

Though, before he could deepen it, a loud noise sounded from underneath them. 

George immediately pulled away, a panicked look present on his face. "I need to get back." 

"Okay, let's go," Dream replied. A short, fast response. It was not what George had expected to hear from the other, and it made one of his brows raise in suspicion. 

Dream began to slide towards the edge of the two-story home, turning to an unmoving George, and commenting: "what?"

"You always try to find something stupid to do to make everything more dangerous, and now you're listening to me. I just find it odd." 

"It's not that uncalled for."

"It is."

Puffing out a breath of cool air, Dream shook his head, "do you want to stay up here?" 

That was enough to get George up and carefully sliding towards where he was. He situated his palm on the edge of the roof, and slowly lowered himself until his feet touched the frame of his room's window. When he felt stable enough, he let go and stepped into his room with ease. Dream followed. 

The loud noise was made once more. This time, however, it was much closer to them. Too close. At the other side of the room's door.

It brought a gasp out of George, and he looked at Dream with an alarmed expression. 

"Get out of here quick," he whispered to him, lightly pushing him towards the window, but Dream would not budge. 

"What, why?"

"What do you mean why? My mom is awake," he paused, looking back at the door, "she'll see you." 

Before Dream could retort, a vivid knocking sound resonated in the room, followed by a voice familiar to one of the two. "Open the door 404."

"Shit, hide," George whispered to the other, grabbing his mask from the bedside table, his feet shuffling against the wooden floor to get to the door. He put his mask on in a hurry, not looking back to check whether Dream had left sight before he swung the door open. 

"Yes?"

His mother's eyes immediately scanned the room behind him just as he opened the door, her gaze only landing on him short seconds after. 

"I've been hearing strange noises from the roof," she told him, her nightgown shadowing over the ground. 

Uneasy, George's eyes wandered. "It's probably the wind."

"Are you sure?" She asked, mere moments after he had responded.

"What else would it be?" He nodded. Closing his eyes shortly, he leaned against the door frame. "Do you need anything else? I'm tired." 

"No," she paused, turning around, "but keep an ear out. It has been strange these past couple of days." 

"Okay." 

The conversation ended, right then, and he closed the door behind her, letting out a breath of warm air he had been keeping in. "You can come out now." 

The bathroom room slowly swayed forward, a tall figure submerging from the shadows of the small room. Dream walked into his bedroom, his hand on his neck, stretching it. 

"Is that a nightly routine?" Dream asked him, a teasing tone lacing his words. His feet took him to where George stood, in the middle of the room. 

"Until she gets less cynical of me," the shorter boy sighed, "it probably will be." 

After seconds of humming, Dream plopped himself onto George's bed, his back hitting the mattress. "What if you worked overnight, outside of your house?" He watched the white ceiling the other had stared at every night. 

"What do you mean?"

"Remember Audre, the tech we visited?" 

"The one with the white hair," George nodded, his memory taking him back to the apartment Dream had taken him to days ago. 

"That's the one. She's not the best at programming and she was impressed by you last time," he told him, "she's looking for someone to work with on her next big project." Then, he rose from the mattress, his gaze meeting George's.

"You mean she wants me to work with her?" He asked him, bewilderment taking over his features. He had never been personally asked to work with someone. 

"You can work with her midday and we can do what we do after lockdown," Dream smiled, a ludic expression on his face. 

It seemed to have been contagious to the other, because a smile began spreading across his lips, too. "You make it sound a lot more scandalous than it actually is." 

"I'll show you something scandalous enough next time."


	18. hiatus

Sorry! Forgot to update ao3 to let you know I have been on hiatus for 2 weeks (so far) because of college. Will resume whenever I have the chance to.


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